Holly Fest
by Everlasting Faerie Light
Summary: Cuileann Celebration, otherwise known as "Holly Fest"- a large, Celtic-inspired art & music festival held deep within the ministry-protected forestlands of Ireland where young witches and wizards over the age of seventeen go to party and get absolutely plastered for a week straight. It's extremely enlightening, I swear. (Primarily "Albus Severus/OC")
1. Festival Season

**AN EXCERPT FROM THE ENTERTAINMENT SECTION IN THE DAILY PROPHET**

 _The Cuileann Celebration, popularly known as "Holly Fest," is an annual wizarding art and music festival held in a secret, ministry-protected location within the forestlands of Ireland going from July 8th to July 15th (These dates correspond with the "Holly" sign of the Celtic Tree Zodiac, hence the name)_

 _The festival was started in the summer of 2018 when a group of wizards who identified themselves as Gaelic "new-age druids" came forward to the ministry and proposed the idea of a festival that promoted the old Celtic teachings of nature, harmony, art, and music._

 _Muggles also have music festivals that are very similar to the Cuileann Celebration. For example, in America, there is a festival that they call "Burning Man," where attendees meet together as a community, camp in the desert, and enjoy a range of various activities, including burning a large statue of a man for fun._

 _After its first year, Holly Fest was almost discontinued due to many of the festival-goers overdosing on various wizarding and muggle mind-altering substances, resulting in several magical injuries and even a few deaths. However, with much protest, it was allowed to continue with the new condition that all festival-goers must be of age according to British wizarding law, and that there was to be improved security and healer aid._

 _With the new age requirement tacked on, wizarding students who have completed their studies often celebrate their success over the summer by attending Holly Fest- a week to forget about all of the conventional, stiff-necked aspects of the wizarding world, and to instead touch base with the roots of ancient, Celtic magic - which emphasizes nature, harmony, and oneness._

 _Of course Holly Fest is met with a lot of controversy amongst older generations of wizards around the world. The use and abuse of certain alternative substances that occur during the Celebration has raised many an eyebrow, and have caused doubt in whether this "Celtic Experience" is nothing more than a drug den for the rotting minds of today's youth._

 _Nevertheless, the Cuileann Celebration is still going strong, with its international popularity growing by the year._

"Ailsa, if you keep smoking that rubbish, your brain will turn into a flobberworm."

A porcelain hand whipped through the curtain of thick smoke that hung heavily in the lemongrass-scented air. The smoke reacted by morphing into a perfect caricature of an old pirate ship before dissipating into a cloud of nothingness.

I couldn't help but laugh at his reaction. He always swatted away at the smoke as if it were a swarm of bothersome cornish pixies. "Oh Scamander, you young soul," I responded in a melodramatic fashion, unable to help myself. "I'm already there. Haven't you noticed? I have flobberworm oozing out of my ears and nostrils as we speak!"

Lysander wrinkled his nose, the small splash of brown freckles disappearing under the folds of skin. I watched him pull on the left sleeve of his red and gold Gryffindor sweater, the colors bright and glaring against the soft, silvery patterns that etched the surface of the loveseat he occupied.

"Yes, now that you mention it, I do see it. It's dripping down your face."

He squinted his blue eyes for a split second as if focusing on something of great importance. "Right... _there_!"

With a sudden movement that was far too quick for me to process, Lysander jumped forward out of his seat, his arm outstretched in a dramatically comical manner. I only had a split second to make a noise of surprise before he proceeded to thrust his finger up my left nostril.

"Gyahhhhh! What the hell?" I screeched, recoiling, my hands cradling my nose as if I had just experienced a hemorrhaging nose bleed. Lysander was cackling violently; He threw his head backwards, and squinted his pretty little eyes as he howled with treacherous laughter.

"So _easy!"_ he exaggerated once his laughter had subsided. "I think I may have actually scraped up some of your boogers too! Mum will be pleased… she's been trying to get either Lorcan or I to get your nose-wax for weeks!"

He held up the index finger he had just assaulted my nostril cavity with, and studied the tip of his fingernail closely with mock importance. I gave him a flat little stare, knowing that he was full of nothing but absolute codswallop. "Your mum may be a bit strange, Scamander, but I don't think she's _that_ strange."

He scoffed. "Of course she is! You of all people should know. You've been working with her for...what is it...three years now? Four years?" He wiped his finger uncaringly on the front of his sweater.

"I'm twenty-one now. I've been working with your mother ever since I graduated from Hogwarts. Do the math, silly little boy," I quipped with an air of regality, knowing that my very tone of voice would annoy the living shit out of Lysander.

He hated when I used my "regal, holier-than-thou" voice. The only time he accepted its usage was when we were making fun of those old codgers that purposely tried to usurp either Luna or I in the area of magizoology expertise. We got a lot of those tossers… those that did everything in their power to prove our work invalid or false.

I couldn't handle it at first- the hordes of narrow-minded, ministry-worshipping dolts constantly feeding me doxy-shit loads of criticism and disapproval that borderlined on harassment. Mrs. Luna Lovegood-Scamander reminded me time in and time out again, in her serene, quirky manner, that in choosing to devote my life to magizoology, I chose to deal with all of the unwanted rubbish as well.

And after developing a new habit of smoking cigars, along with the creation of a mild alcoholic addiction, I dealt with it. And I prospered.

I got to smoke all of the dittany extraction that I wanted, travel to some of the most exciting places in the world, work at my own pace while making a fairly high wage, and laugh at all of those feeble-headed, paperwork-scrounging bastards with a glass of firewhiskey in my right hand. Not only that, but my love and knowledge for magizoology- something that I had developed as a mere first year - expanded at such a progressive rate that the mere foul utterings of a few sour-faced wizards became nothing more than a joke. I was doing what I loved, and I loved doing it everyday.

"That tone of voice is absolutely repulsive," Lysander remarked, as I expected he would. I shrugged a little and tapped the edge of my opal glass pipe so that the dittany extraction that sat within the bowl would light up again. I brought the pipe to my lips and inhaled, the familiar burning sensation coating my throat and floating up towards my brain so that the thinnest layer of my reality was shed. I felt the warmth cascade through my limbs as I breathed out, the smoke twirling around the room once again in a lethargic manner. Lysander swatted away at the air again, his face melded into one of disgust.

However, instead of chastising me about my smoking habits again, he suddenly smiled- a bright, devious smile lacking the characteristic dreaminess present in the expressions of his twin brother and mother. It was a bold, bright Gryffindor smile.

"So. It's that time of the year again," he said, his dimples popping out in an endearing manner.

I grinned back, knowing exactly what he was talking about. It was something I had been involved with for four years now...something I viewed as an almost sacred occurrence.

"Holly Fest."

The words felt like caramel as they left my lips. A tirade of butterflies rampaged in my stomach as my brain soared onward, thinking of the near future and all of its upcoming magical wonders.

Holly Fest.

Or as the new-age Celtic druids called it: the _Cuileann_ Celebration.

I have been to some of the most amazing, inspiring, jaw-dropping places in the world. I have gone on nargle hunts in Albania. I have traversed through the vast, sun-baked Sahara desert in search of the fire- breathing wrackspurt. Luna, Rolf, and I have extracted new, unheard of infusions of gurdyroot while in the jungles of Nicaragua. Hell, I just arrived back in Ottery St. Catchpole three days ago from an important magizoology panel meeting regarding the existence of a sinister relative to the hinkypunk in New Zealand.

But those experiences cannot compare to the passion and intensity I feel while at Holly Fest. How do I even begin to describe it? It's a large festival held in a ministry-protected forest somewhere within the deep, rural parts of Ireland. It's a week-long festival celebrating and honoring the old Celtic magic that used to run rampant throughout the United Kingdom back even before Hogwarts was founded.

Well, that's the festival's description according to the Daily Prophet.

In all honesty, Holly Fest is not so much a traditional "celebration" honoring culture, as it is a high-energy, drug-fueled shit show. Ever since its inception, many young witches and wizards, seventeen or older, arrive to the festival, set up their tents, and then proceed to plunge themselves deep into a different dimension for the rest of the week. There have been many complaints and debates about the "indecent" nature of Holly Fest for years. Thankfully, it has become so much of an eccentric enigma within the wizarding world that the ministry has decided against its demise. After all, the festival itself has done a lot of good for the souls and minds of young witches and wizards around the world. It is hard to explain without sounding like what the muggles would call a "hippie," but the intense energy and vibrations felt by individuals at Holly Fest throughout the week always ends with personal growth and a cleansing of the psyche.

This was going to be my fourth Holly Fest. Every year that I have attended, I have worked the magizoology booth with Luna, drinking gallons of firewhiskey and smoking dittany extraction while demonstrating to festival-goers how the saliva of Blibbering Humdingers could reduce pain, but still induce mild hallucinations.

I remember when I was seventeen years old, and it was the first day of summer before my last year of Hogwarts. I was called up to Professor McGonagall's office right before lunch, and I was worried that Ol' Minnie was going to give me last-minute detention for the Melpurne I had planted in the Quidditch field just the week before. Instead, I was introduced to Luna Lovegood-Scamander, who was extremely impressed by the fact that I had managed to summon and plant a Melpurne on school grounds. I was then given a fully-paid scholarship to her Magizoologist internship. Working the booth at Holly Fest in the summer would be my first paid assignment.

Holly Fest provided me with my first real magizoologist experience. Not only did it provide me with the great opportunity to work and party with Luna, but it solidified my career path. After that summer, I finished my last year of Hogwarts and graduated, walking off of those castle grounds an official magizoologist in training.

Lysander pumped his fist in the air, bringing me back from my reflective trip through memory lane. "Two more days! I already finished packing, but Lorcan is permanently stoned. He can't even get his goddamn extension charm right to fit his tent-"

"Speaking of being permanently stoned, do you want to smoke some weed?" I asked, setting aside my pipe full of dittany extraction, and, instead, reaching across the kaleidoscopic table to grab both the purple glass pipe and bag full of marijuana that sat idly amongst the sealed jars of crumple-horned snorkack claws.

Lysander gave a nod. "The muggle stuff I can handle. It's that foul dittany extraction shit that I don't like."

I loaded the bowl with the green herb carefully, using my fingers to rip apart the buds and place them in the shallow cavern. I always liked to load bowls or roll spliffs the muggle way because I enjoyed the smell of marijuana on my fingers. Once I was done, I handed the pipe to Lysander, prompting him to hit it first.

"You are camping with Lorcan and I again this year, right?" he asked before bringing the pipe up to his lips. I watched him light the bowl, inhale, and then exhale in a mild coughing fit, the milky smoke fogging up the entire room.

"Of course I am. I wouldn't have it any other way. It will just be the three of us, right? I think your mum and dad are going to camp more towards the east side of the forest this year." I reached over and grabbed the pipe from him.

"Negative," he responded, that small mischievous smirk creeping its way onto his lips again. "Haven't you heard? We're camping with the Wotters this year."

"The _who?"_ I asked, immediately confused. Was this little bugger trying to play a trick on me of some sorts? I had never heard of anybody by the last name of "Wotter."

He rolled his eyes in response as I proceeded to hit the pipe.

"The _Wotters_ , Ailsa. The Weasley-Potters. They're only the most well-known wizarding family in all of fucking history!" he exclaimed.

I blew out the smoke, the light, floaty feeling of the weed mixing in with the stronger, warmer sensation of the dittany extraction. My vision blurred ever so slightly and I felt all remaining tension in my muscles dissipate.

"Oh," I responded dumbly.

I did not have a legitimate opinion of the Weasley-Potters. Yes, of course I knew all about Harry Potter and how he and his friends Ron and Hermione saved the whole world from the evil tyrant known as Lord Voldemort, and how they all became one big happy family afterwards when Harry married Ginny Weasley, and Ron married Hermione before they started uncontrollably popping out famous-by-default babies.

But I never really ever talked to any of them. James Potter graduated in my year, and he spent a majority of his time prancing around the school with his Gryffindor Quidditch Captain badge gleaming on his chest. I think we may have said no more than five words to each other throughout those seven years. Albus Potter was a year below me, and I only ever saw him sulking around the halls with Scorpius Malfoy every once in a blue moon. I doubt we even ever so much as made eye contact for more than two seconds. As for the other "Wotters," they lost all of their individuality after I realized over half of them had the same red hair and freckles. Apparently there's a veela somewhere in there too?

I handed the pipe back to Lysander. "I didn't know that that family had any interest in Holly Fest."

"James and his girlfriend Elena have been going for four years, y'know."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise at that. "Elena O'Neil?" 

I guess I could picture James partying it up hard at the festival, but Elena always seemed to be that quiet, modest Hufflepuff girl that acted as James' crutch when he got too hyper. But then again, that's every more reason for her to attend.

Lysander nodded. "It's everyone else's first year though. We've got a couple of newbies on our hands."

"Why are we going with them? Not that I have anything against them or anything, but… if all of the-er- _Wotters_ are going, wouldn't we have a really crowded site?"

I wasn't a really picky person, and yes, the tents were enchanted so that the interiors were vast and comfortable, but I was still extremely claustrophobic at times, and did not want to step out of my tent while high on acid and fall right into a cluster of tents occupied by people I barely knew. Knowing my luck, that was bound to happen.

"Nah. We managed to book a really large site. Well... James actually did it with my mum's help."

I leaned back further in my seat, pipe in hand, the mixture of weed and dittany extraction making my limbs melt into the furniture as I stared at Lysander with half-lidded eyes. I kept forgetting that Luna was very good friends with the so-called Wotters.

"Also, I, uh... " Lysander's face suddenly flushed. His red-rimmed eyes pointed towards his fidgeting hands for a split second before he took a breath and looked back up at me. "Dominique Weasley and I are dating, and she really, _really_ wants me to share a tent with her."

I coughed at that, the smoke billowing out ungracefully from my mouth, my throat coated with an unpleasant, yet almost pleasant cannabis-infused burn. Once I recovered, I grinned, unable to help myself.

"You have a _girlfriend?_ Oh, dear Merlin."

Lysander glared at me as I fell into a peal of laughter. "Shut it, Brewer. I am just as capable as any other attractive young man to have a girlfriend."

"But, you're _Lysander._ You've never been tied down to one girl. I think the longest you've ever been with a girl was with that one fifth year Slytherin, and you told me that that lasted for like four days," I pointed out, still grinning stupidly at the fact that he had a fucking girlfriend. And of course it had to be one of the Wotters.

"Yeah, yeah," he droned, waving a hand dismissively in my direction. "I was a smarmy fourth year then. All I wanted to do was get in every girl's trousers."

I rose an eyebrow at him. "And you don't now?"

"No, I don't." His gaze softened considerably as he sighed deeply. "I really like her. Like, a lot. We've been seeing each other since February, and I haven't even...y'know… slept with her yet."

I let out a low whistle.

"Holy shit, mate. That is pretty damn impressive for you."

And it really was. Lysander was the textbook definition of the Hogwarts player. Good-looking, chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, smouldering eyes, an air of irresistible charm mixed with just a hint of mischief and rebellion…

He also had a tendency to go on less-than-innocent escapades with various girls after hours and in between classes. He was so different from Lorcan, his Ravenclaw counterpart who was equally as gorgeous and mysterious, yet also unsettlingly eccentric and clinically insane. But hey, at least Lorcan would smoke a bowl of dittany extraction with me and not bitch about it.

Once there was nothing more but a crumble of ash at the bottom of the bowl, I set it aside, revelling in the stoney haze that filled the room, the setting sun casting sharp rays of light that filtered through the stagnant smoke.

I fell into another spontaneous fit of stoned giggles. "Wait...so...which one is Dominique again?"

"She's-"

"No, wait! Let me guess!" I interrupted, unable to stop the large Cheshire cat grin that erupted on my face.

He rolled his eyes.

"Is she the Veela?" I asked.

His grudging look was replaced with one of pride. "Yes, she's the Veela one."

"HA! Of course you go for that one. My, my Scamander, you naughty boy."

I reached forward to grab my pipe filled with the dittany extraction once again. I watched Lysander immediately recoil as I brought it up to my lips and tapped the edge of the pipe with my wand, lighting the contents of the bowl.

He crossed his arms petulantly, his expression one of deepest annoyance.

"I just have one more question," I pressed before inhaling the fumes.

"I swear to Merlin, if you blow that smoke in my direction, I am leaving," Lysander snapped darkly. I knew he wasn't kidding. But I didn't give one single fuck. This was how ninety percent of our relationship worked. Plus, he was going to have to get used to this smell sooner or later- dittany extraction is, after all, a popular, well-used substance at Holly Fest.

I held my breath for a few long seconds, staring intently at him, unable to stop my clenched mouth from forming into a smile. Once I exhaled, I made sure to blow the stream of billowing smoke straight into his face.

He swatted away at it violently, muttering a multitude of curse words. I crossed my legs demurely and asked:

"Does she actually turn into a bird when you piss her off?"

Lysander jumped up from his seat swiftly, still swatting the smoke away with flailing arms, his face contorted with flat irritation as he made his way toward the door.

"I'm out. Fuck you, Ailsa."

I just laughed like a deranged hyena as he exited my flat, the mixture of smoke from the trapped marijuana and dittany extraction soaring out the door after him.

This was going to be a good fourth year.

Happy Holly Fest.


	2. Lysander Scamander's Veela Girlfriend

The morning air was pleasantly crisp, reminiscent to the texture and taste of a granny smith apple.

The sun peaked gently through the branches of the gnarled willow trees that sat on the bank of the slithering creek, which lined the outskirts of the trimmed dirigible plum plants I had worked so hard on over the past two years. The sound of rushing water mingled with bright, twittering songs of mockingbirds that hid in the green maelstrom of leaves. The ethereal sound of a trembling wind chime harmonized with the gentle breath of an enchanted summer wind that seemed unique to Ottery St. Catchpole.

I loved mornings. Especially summer mornings. For as long as I could remember, I was always the first one to wake up. When I was at Hogwarts, I would open my eyes at exactly five thirty in the morning every day, and just stare at that colorful, stained-glass windowed depiction of Rowena Ravenclaw holding her wand in her right hand, and an extremely large roll of parchment in her left. As I stared at it, I remember thinking that despite the brilliant display of color, this particular depiction failed to capture any sort of real humanity that the witch may have had. It was dismal and distant…shy. As if the artist did not want the onlooker to fully comprehend his or her intentions. Maybe it was the fact that, unlike the other paintings or various pieces of art that resided within Hogwarts, this one never moved.

I leaned back in my velvet-cushioned porch chair, curling my bare legs up amongst the myriad of voluptuous pillows, and proceeded to take a large gulp of my firewhiskey-winter rum cocktail. The mixture of engulfing heat and icy cold, along the faintest hint of Romanian Dragon Lime, created an almost spiritual bodily fusion that spiderwebbed down my throat, and through the layers upon layers of cells that made up my body.

I loved morning drinking. I also loved day drinking. And night drinking.

To be quite frank, I loved to drink.

My "mild" alcoholic addiction was not actually that mild, I'm afraid.

My dear mother, may her wild spirit rest in peace, was the first to really nag me about my little habit I had picked up during the first year of my magizoology internship. Unfortunately, I had a very hard time taking her seriously due to the fact that she, herself, was a notorious alcoholic. And no, she did not die from alcoholism. She was an artist, a painter of portraits and scenes that capture the most vulnerable and tender of moments. She was also a muggle, and an avid smoker of cigarettes.

Ah yes. Muggle cigarettes.

I immediately grabbed the pack of Marlboro Lights sitting idly on the arm of the porch chair, opened it up swiftly, took one out, and stuck the filtered end of it in my mouth, the faintest taste of the tobacco teasing the chapped skin of my lips. I was in dire need of some moisturization, especially this time of year.

I lit the cigarette with the tip off my wand.

The gentle breeze picked up every so slightly, wafting over my face in an almost hesitant manner.

I took a drag.

I remember when the drag would make me dizzy to the extent where I would feel like I was flying a broomstick for the first time in my life. Now I don't feel anything really.

My mum always smoked when she would drive her car. No matter where she was driving, whether it be on a winding country road or a ridiculously busy highway, she would go through the trouble of fiddling through her freshly opened pack for a cigarette, and roll down all of the windows so that the smoke from her heavy drags would filter out with the flapping wind.

Her lighter was probably out of fuel that day.

The brunt of her concentration was most likely set on trying to light the cigarette, and in her distracted frustration at being unable to do so, she probably did not see the large semi-truck hurtling towards her.

Goddamn it, mum.

But I wasn't going to tarnish the memory of my mother by blaming her for the chain of actions that resulted in her death. After all, I still smoke the dirty little rascals, and if I drove on a daily basis, I would be smoking in the car too.

I took another drag, closing my eyes this time. I felt my consciousness detach itself from my body ever so slightly, and then meld with the intertwining sounds of rushing water and rustling leaves.

Today was going to be a marvelous day.

I could feel it in my soul.

CRACK!

A sound reminiscent to a muggle car backfiring broke me out of my blissful morningtime-alcoholic daze.

After recovering from the quasi-heart attack induced by the sound of someone apparating straight onto my porch, I grinned at the idiot who stood before me.

"Aye there, chap," I greeted him, raising my glass in his direction. "Just floo next time, would you? Keep this up, and my heart actually will stop."

Lorcan Scamander tilted his head ever so slightly, a dreamy half-smile present on his alabaster face. He wore a pair of oversized, lopsided spectrespecs, bright yellow robes that I was absolutely sure he nicked from that shoddy robe shop in Knockturn Alley, and a pair of rather ugly wooden sandals that displayed his eight remaining toes. (His left pinky toe got bitten off by an angry Irish imp, and his right middle toe was severed during an accident involving three exploding cauldrons)

All in all, he looked like an oversized mutant insect. Just as I expected he would.

"Floo powder is an extremely notable lung irritant," he responded in an airy, nonchalant voice as he straightened the straps of his lime-green backpack. "As you know, Miss Brewer, I have very sensitive lungs."

I snorted. "Says the crackpot that smokes more dittany extraction than I do on an hourly basis."

Instead of responding to my words, he leaned his whole body to the left and stuck his finger in his ear, wiggling it around with a mildly distressed look on his otherwise serene, insect-like face, his lopsided spectrespecs dangling on the bridge of his nose. After a few seconds, there was a sharp popping noise, and a stream of what looked like dark blue sand came pouring out of his ear and onto the porch.

"My apologies," he murmured, straightening back up once all of the sand had exited his ear. He whipped his wand from his left pocket and pointed it at the pile of blue sand, vanishing it completely. "Bloody Narckopeths. They leave their reproductive powder everywhere."

I just shrugged, and refrained from asking further questions.

Amongst the "normal"-minded individuals of society, I was definitely considered to be a bit of a "loon," but I was nowhere near the level of lunacy that Lorcan Scamander was on. Everyone acquainted with the bloke knew better than to try to make logical sense of his habits.

Lorcan and Lysander Scamander were identical twins three years my junior. I did not know them very well while I was still at Hogwarts, but after I graduated and started working with their mother, I became their honorary older sister. The two had a tendency to show up to my flat unannounced on a daily basis given the fact that their parents lived right over the hill.

Though Lorcan and Lysander looked exactly alike, they could not be more different.

Lysander was that charming, yet rebellious Gryffindor bloke that everybody wanted to befriend. He was one of the best chasers Gryffindor had ever seen, and his smouldering gaze had the ability to make the majority of the female population tear their panties off. It really is a wonder that he turned out to be so normal given how outlandish both his parents AND his twin brother are.

Lorcan, on the other hand, was just...odd. He was that dreamy-eyed Ravenclaw that stared off into corners for eerily prolonged periods of time, owned about fifty different pairs of spectrespecs in order to examine the wrackspurt population in the area, and had a very peculiar sense of style that earned him many disapproving gazes from the general public.

I loved both of them to bits for very different reasons, but if I were truly being honest with myself, I found my connection to Lorcan to be a bit more genuine. Strange souls truly did intertwine with other strange souls.

Plus, he smoked dittany extract with me while Lysander coughed and blubbered like a bloody baby every time he so much as caught a whiff of it.

I took another drag from my cigarette, and then scooted over, patting the seat next to me so that he could take a seat.

I held my drink out to him as he sat down, placing his bag at his feet.

"What is it?" he asked, eyeing it through his multicolored spectrespecs. I giggled. He just looked so much like an insect!

"Firewhiskey and winter rum," I responded. "It has Romanian Dragon Lime in it too. You can have the rest of that if you'd like; I've got more in the kitchen."

He took the drink, held it up to his nose, sniffed it, and then without warning, poured the entirety of its contents into his mouth, successfully draining the cup in about three gulps without so much as flinching.

And I thought that I had an alcohol problem.

"Are you all packed for Holly Fest? Your brother told me yesterday that you were having a bit of trouble."

I grabbed my wand from one of the crevices formed by the mountain of pillows that surrounded me, and quickly summoned my opal pipe, container of dittany extract, and bag of marijuana. They came flying out of the open window to my left, making the silvery curtains sway ever so slightly.

Lorcan finally reached up to take off his spectrespecs, and turned to look at me fully with those large blue eyes of his. While they were the same exact shape, size, and color as his Lysander's, they lacked the characteristic mischievous twinkle. Lorcan's eyes were wide and deep, filled with maelstroms of nonsensical puzzles and quizzical, psychotic spirits that made prolonged eye contact with the bloke both unsettling and alluring.

I quite liked his eyes, and I hoped that someone else would come to like them too.

He smiled ever so slightly. "Yes, of course I finished packing. I would not have been able to do it without Gartheria's help of course."

I laughed.

Gartheria is a blast-ended skrewt that Lorcan had somehow managed to domesticate over the course of about two years. Apparently, Hagrid had been secretly breeding a few of them in the Forbidden Forest, and after stumbling across a group of them in the Forbidden Forest while on one of his Crumple-Horned Snorkack hunts, Lorcan fell in love. He overlooked their obviously foul disposition, and instead treated them as if they were a group of overly-fluffy kittens. I am a professional magizoologist, and even I do not understand how the fucking hell he managed to domesticate one of those monsters. There's a reason why Hagrid and Lorcan will forever be mates.

However, I couldn't deny that I was impressed. Gartheria turned out to be extremely well-behaved, and followed Lorcan around like an obedient dog. She was far too big to sleep in Lorcan's room, so with the help of Luna and Rolf, he had a cozy shed built in their backyard solely for Gartheria. Lysander still thinks they're all mental. I think they're all brilliant.

"I wish Gartheria could come to Holly Fest with us. She would love it very much," he said with a dreamy sigh.

"Yes, well, I don't think that the event coordinators would take too kindly to a ten foot long blast-ended skrewt showing up at the main gate. Even if she was on a leash," I said with a smirk, picturing Lysander wearing his spectrespecs and dragging Gartheria around the festival on a leash. That would definitely ruin some LSD trips.

Once I finished loading the opal pipe of my bowl with a mixture of weed and dittany extraction, I passed it to Lorcan, prompting him to hit it first.

"Mum says that it would be easier if Lysander and I stayed here tonight since we're going to be taking the same portkey to the festival. Also, she gave our rooms to some Japanese magizoologists for the night- apparently they have last minute business to attend to," he said in one breath before hitting the pipe, breathing out a large puff of smoke that morphed into the shape of a swan before dissipating.

I nodded, taking the pipe from Lorcan. "That's fine. We can all crash in the living room if you'd like. I have plenty of firewhiskey and some mushrooms if you wanted to get a little silly tonight. We do have to wake up by seven tomorrow though if we want to catch our nine o'clock portkey, so we probably shouldn't get too wild."

"That sounds lovely, Miss Brewer," he said in his characteristically dreamy voice. It was almost swoon-worthy. Despite how odd he was, I knew that if Lorcan wanted to, he could be just as seductive as Lysander.

"So what's your brother doing right now, then? Is he planning to come over anytime soon?"

Lorcan rubbed both of his eyes and then put his spectrespecs back on. He took the pipe from me, and brought it to his lips.

Once he hit it properly, he gave a small non-committal shrug. "He told me a few hours ago that he was going to the Burrow for some breakfast, and then he was going to be here."

I rose an eyebrow. "The Burrow?"

He smiled. "The Burrow. It's the name that the Weasleys use for their place. It's quite a peculiar looking house- all rickety and asymmetrical. Plenty of wrackspurts around there. There's even a ghoul that lives in the attic. I tried talking to him once, but he was a rather lewd, unfavorable character. Would not listen to any sort of reason."

I couldn't help but snicker ever so slightly. "He's visiting his veela girlfriend, isn't he? What's she like, Lorcan? I want the rundown before I actually meet her."

However, before Lorcan could give me the rundown about Lysander's veela girlfriend, we were interrupted by another large CRACK, causing me to shriek. I was glad that I didn't have the pipe in my hand, because I would have surely dropped it.

Bloody hell, I really should enforce the "floo powder only" rule before I undergo cardiac arrest.

Standing before the two of us was none other than Lysander Scamander. He was donned in a red and gold Gryffindor jersey, his blue eyes twinkling in that characteristic mischievous way, and an easy, lopsided grin slapped on his face.

However, it wasn't him I was staring at.

He had his right arm draped around someone's shoulders.

A pair of very slim shoulders.

Slim, bare, pretty shoulders.

I blinked a few times as I took in this girl's appearance.

She was tall and willowy, standing only a few inches shorter than Lysander. She had long silvery blonde hair tied to the side in an intricate braid that traveled down the length of her torso to her waist. She had high, pronounced cheekbones and a soft jawline that both suggested severity and softness. Her plump, pouty lips were curved into a small smile, and her brilliant ocean colored eyes seemed to glow in an almost inhumane manner. Her slender silhouette was clothed in a very beautiful, yet modest floral sundress that went down to her ankles.

I had definitely seen her before.

Only a few times in the corridors or in between classes at Hogwarts.

This was the Veela. This was Dominique Weasley and Lysander Scamander's new girlfriend.

Giving her another once over, I mentally applauded him for being able to abstain from having sex with her right away. If I were him, I would've already shagged that girl to bloody Neptune and back.

"Oi, you fuckers, what's new?" Lysander greeted us as he pulled Dominique closer to him. "This is Dominique, my girlfriend. But she just goes by Dom. Dom, this is Ailsa Brewer. She works the magizoology booth at Holly Fest with my mum."

Dom's eyes locked on me, and I was momentarily breathless. Goddamn veelas.

I stood up, figuring that that was the polite thing to do. I grinned at her, hoping that I didn't seem too gobsmacked by her overwhelming beauty.

"I'm Ailsa," I said, extending my hand. "Welcome to my home."

She smiled back and took my hand. My palm tingled ever so slightly as soon as her skin made contact with mine. "Nice to meet you, Ailsa. I think I've seen you around school. What year did you graduate again?"

I swallowed, willing my cotton mouth to go away. I could feel Lorcan's gaze on me through his spectrespecs. He was probably making fun of me in that off-kilter mind of his.

"Er… I graduated three years ago in '22," I responded, hoping that I didn't sound too awkward. I had to tilt my head to look up at her. She was super tall, and though I was not the shortest girl to grace the planet, I was definitely on the shorter side.

Her smile grew wider, her eyes never leaving my face. "Ah I see. You were in James' year. I graduated in '23. That's probably why you look so familiar."

She finally broke our prolonged eye contact to look at Lysander, an expression of adoration prevalent on her face. "Lysander over here is a baby, but he doesn't seem to mind having his cradle robbed."

Both Lorcan and I laughed as Lysander's face flushed. Dom kissed him tenderly on the cheek.

Lysander was a full two years younger than her; I had to hand it to him for scoring a part-veela goddess that happened to have a few years on him. Not to mention she also came from a very famous wizarding family.

"Are you going to travel to the festival with us? You can spend the night here if you are," I offered, finding it slightly strange that a large part of me was roaring in over-enthusiastic approval at the idea of her spending the night at my house. I dismissed it quickly.

Dom turned to look back at me, those eyes of her locking me in once again. I saw a look pass across her face. I couldn't quite describe the look, but it was definitely a strange one- a look that made my stomach erupt in a tirade of butterflies. Her smile suddenly seemed slightly coy.

"If I'm not intruding, of course," she responded.

"Of course not! We were going to have some fun today. It's my day off, so I figured we'd drink some firewhiskey and take a few mushrooms to celebrate going to the festival tomorrow."

I inwardly cringed. My voice sounded too rushed, too forced, too...hopeful. I didn't sound like myself. Something about Dominique Weasley was having a profound effect on my psyche, and I wasn't quite sure how to handle it.

Lorcan sensed my mental shift. I knew he did.

Lysander, on the other hand, was oblivious as always. He punched his fist in the air as an expression of celebration. "Fuck yes! You're the best, Ailsa! I knew that you'd be able to get your hands on some mushies."

"They're really not that hard to get, y'know. You just have to remember what we learned in third year herbology about the different classifications of plants and fungi. Avoid the deadly ones, pick the edible ones, and trip with the psychedelic ones," I chimed in an almost sing-song voice, causing Dom to smile at me again.

My face suddenly started to feel hot, but before anyone could point it out, Lysander reached out to ruffle my dark hair.

"Blah blah blah, whatever. Nobody remembers third year Herbology. Let's go inside, yeah? I hear that firewhiskey calling my name!"

And so the three of us went inside and our pre-Holly Fest activities commenced. I moved the furniture off to the side in my living room, leaving room for us to sit on the soft, sky blue carpet. We spent a majority of the day on our arses, drinking away at the large gallon-sized bottle of firewhiskey. We laughed and giggled and poked at each other as the alcohol worked its way through our bloodstreams, making us more and more drunk with each passing moment.

At some point, we all decided to dig into the mushrooms. I made sure that we all only took one because I knew that if we took any more, all sense of reality would be lost, and our trip to the festival tomorrow would be one of great difficulty. Dom had never taken mushrooms before, and when I offered her only a stem to start, she shook her head, and took a full mushroom with a breathtaking, mischievous smile on her face. I swear to Merlin she also tossed me a saucy wink, but that could've just been my imagination. Or my trip starting to take its toll.

Taking the mushroom was perfect; my already colorful living room seemed to blend together in a harmonizing mantra of kaleidoscopic images. We were all laughing as we laid on the floor, talking absolute nonsense and making fun of each other's awkwardness before falling into more fits of uncontrollable laughter.

Before we knew it, the sun had dipped below the horizon, and nighttime approached. The sound of crickets drifted through my open window, and a cool breeze swept around the living room.

Lorcan had disappeared about an hour ago to go wrackspurt hunting with his spectrespecs. I knew that one of his favorite things to do was hunt for those fuckers while he was high. Lysander had fallen asleep curled up on the floor, his head resting on Dom's thigh. She was stroking his hair gently with a serene, blissful look on her face.

The effect of the mushrooms was wearing off, and the living room started to look less like a kaleidoscopic maze and more like my living room… which in all honesty, still looked like a kaleidoscopic maze. I was still quite drunk from the firewhiskey, and I knew that the only thing that would make this moment perfect would be some good ol' marijuana.

As I brought the pipe up to my lips, I was suddenly aware of the fact that Dom was staring at me.

I willed myself to look at her. Her eyes were dilated from the mushrooms. I gulped, and hoped that I wouldn't make things awkward.

"So, you're a magizoologist?" she asked me.

I hit the pipe, and then nodded.

"Yeah. I absolutely love it," I responded.

"That's really neat. I've never met another magizoologist before...well, besides Lysander's parents of course. And they're both a bit-"

She was struggling to come up with the right words.

"Bonkers?" I finished for her, grinning widely.

She laughed. "Yeah. Don't get me wrong; they are amazing people, but they just take me off guard sometimes, y'know? I remember one time, Luna and Rolf came over to the Burrow to have dinner with our family over the holidays. Luna accidentally dropped her handbag, and all of these strange flying insect-things came flying out. It took over three hours to get them back in the bag, and by that time, they had destroyed the kitchen and the living room!"

"That sounds about accurate. And those flying insect-things you're referring to? They were probably Liefhigs. Cross between a Billywig and Doxy. They can be very destructive," I rambled off, reddening slightly at the fact that I was slurring my words. But I was drunk enough to where it really wasn't a big deal to me. I decided to reload the bowl.

She gave a sweet little chuckle that made the hairs on my arms stand on end. "You're pretty incredible, Ailsa. Magizoology is a pretty hard profession to take on from what I've heard. I always assumed that you had to be a bit off your rocker to handle it."

I snorted at that. "Oh, trust me, darling. I am definitely off my rocker. You just don't know it yet."

"Oh? I would've never guessed."

I looked up and studied her. She was still stroking Lysander's hair, but her whole body was leaning towards me. She had a playful expression on that beautiful face of hers, an undeniable twinkle in her eyes that seemed to light up her whole physique.

I gulped again. My heart was pounding against my chest.

Was she...was she _flirting_ with me?

Despite my various experiences with them, I could never tell right off the bat whether a female was flirting with me, or just trying to be friendly.

Maybe it was just wishful thinking. Either way, it didn't matter because she was Lysander's girlfriend, and I had absolutely no intentions of nabbing his girlfriend while he wasn't looking.

I cleared my throat and stood up. More firewhiskey was in order.

"I'll be right back. I'm going to make us some drinks," I mumbled in a barely coherent voice before bolting to the kitchen.

Once I was there, I paused, realizing just how drunk and high I was. I thought that the mushroom had worn off, but judging by the overly intense textures and moving surfaces, I thought wrong. I took a deep breath to steady myself, and whipped my wand out to fix myself a glass of water. If I was going to keep drinking alcohol with Dominique Weasley and still get up early in the morning to reach the portkey at nine AM sharp, then I needed to straighten myself out.

I summoned the glass of water, took a large gulp, and relished the cold freshness as it ran down my throat, washing away at any stale toxins that decided to cake my insides.

I turned around, and found myself face to face with none other than Dominique Weasley.

I jumped up in shock and dropped my glass of water, causing it to shatter to pieces at my feet. But neither of us seemed to care in the least.

She had that irresistible, mischievous pout on her lips, her large eyes fixed on me with what looked like determination. She was close. Extremely close. Almost uncomfortably close. I could almost feel the fabric of her dress brush up against my chest.

"Hey," I breathed out. I cursed myself for sounding so breathless.

My heart was pounding against my ribcage. My stomach was jumping and turning at odd intervals, and I knew that it wasn't because of the alcohol or mushrooms. My face was unbearably hot, and I could feel a sheen of sweat form on the back of my neck.

She let out a small giggle. A flirtatious giggle.

"I was just wondering if you needed help making those drinks," she said in a sultry voice.

My heart was literally caught in my throat, and there was absolutely no way that I could swallow it and force it back to its rightful place.

"Erm...I...er...I mean, if you want to help me-" I started, but my voice faltered as she took another step forward.

I took a step back, but she was persistent. She had me backed up against the sink, the sharp granite digging into the small of my back.

"Oh, but I do," she said in that same sultry voice. "I really, really do."

"Do you?" I nearly squeaked.

She seemed taller than before as she towered over me, her eyes ravishing me in an almost hungry manner that made my insides feel like they were on fire. She was a goddess. A powerful, beautiful goddess with the light of a thousand suns in the palm of her perfectly shaped, lily-white hand.

Dom chuckled again and nodded. "You... _fascinate_ me, Ailsa Brewer."

I opened my mouth to say something, but no words could come out. So she continued to speak, closing the space between us so that her torso was pressed against mine. I had nowhere to run.

"You are one of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen," she continued.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, my usual self snorted at this, given the fact that I was being told that I was beautiful by _the_ most beautiful girl in the world.

She leaned in. Closer and closer.

The air was static. I felt a sense of elevation, a strange high that I had never experienced before. It was more thrilling than riding a broomstick.

I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to undo her braid and tangle my fingers in her lovely silvery-blonde hair. I wanted to feel her small, perky breasts against mine as she cupped my cheek and lovingly devoured me whole.

I felt the gentle brush of her lips against mine. It tingled ever so slightly.

This was going to happen. I was going to hook up with a veela. I was going to snog the living shit out of her, and then I was going to bring her back to my room, and engage in a steamy pre-festival workout.

But then, I heard the faint cries of my rational self, who was screaming bloody murder at me about the boy passed out in my living room.

The passed out boy whose unbearably beautiful girlfriend I was planning to hook up with.

The passed out boy who was so smitten with this girl, that he hadn't even slept with her yet.

I felt as if someone had doused me with icy water.

I turned my face away, feeling the soft press of her lips against my jawline.

Dom pulled back and stared at me. I refused to look at her fully. I knew that she had a questioning look on her face. I opened my mouth to speak, willing myself to come up with a coherent explanation.

"I...er...w-we...we can't...um…"

Wow. Well done, Ailsa.

I sighed shakily and pulled away from her, taking a few steps to the left to lean against the pantry door, my eyes fixed on my feet.

"I'm just...I'm just going to make the drinks. You can wait in the living room," I managed to choke out.

She didn't respond right away.

I looked up at her, and saw that she was staring at me intently. Her dilated, ocean blue eyes were still blazing with an irresistible fire. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, and her pouting lips were parted ever so slightly.

A beat of silence passed between us.

Then, finally, her lips formed into a smirk, and her eyes flashed in a challenging way that made my stomach jolt in an almost violent manner. She seemed different now. Her graceful, warm beauty was replaced by a stunningly dangerous beauty...a beauty that harbored lust and trouble and mischief. It made her even more irresistible.

"Make sure to make mine a double, sweetheart," she said. Her voice even sounded different. It now had a bitchy tone to it, and instead of making me dislike her as I hoped it would, it made me want her even more.

She turned to walk toward the living room, but before she exited the kitchen, she gave me one last look.

There was a confident smile on her face.

A smile that suggested that she now saw this as a challenge.

A smile that suggested that this was not over.

I knew that Dominique Weasley was going to try her hardest hook up with me, and the fact that she had a wonderful, committed boyfriend at her side did not matter to her in the slightest.


End file.
